


stars are only visible (in darkness)

by lady_laverty



Series: head is not my home [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amputation, Brainwashing, Gen, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, hydra you really have stepped up your game but not high enough, seriously im so into this i cant deal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_laverty/pseuds/lady_laverty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He leaves the SHIELD prison as Grant Douglas Ward with a frown on his face and a tinge of fear in his belly. This shouldn’t be happening. He doesn’t know what’s going on.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(Grant Douglas Ward is expelled from his mind shaking and frothing at the mouth from the electricity being charged into his brain, with a child screaming, clawing in his head and he doesn’t know if it’s Dana or himself.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Monster Inside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776943) by [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet). 



He leaves the SHIELD prison as Grant Douglas Ward with a frown on his face and a tinge of fear in his belly. This shouldn't be happening. He doesn't know what’s going on.

_(Grant Douglas Ward is expelled from his mind shaking and frothing at the mouth from the electricity being charged into his brain, with a child screaming, clawing in his head and he doesn’t know if it’s Dana or himself.)_

* * *

 

He is the new Asset, they will not tell him what has happened to the last one and he does not care. There is only the mission and he is jittery when he is not on one. The scientists know to look out for the signs (sweating, limbs twitching, restless behaviour _the mission the mission the mission—_ ) and give him guns to handle, to take apart and put back together with knowledge he does not remember acquiring.

He spars and hurts and he does not understand the quiver and the knot in his stomach when he incapacitates a trainer, when his mission states that he must eliminate a family.

He asks questions and the questions are eradicated from his mind with prejudice. He accepts the bit and electricity is sparking through his mind like a flood, taking any and all questions and worries.

* * *

 

He is sent to eliminate a leaking tap of information of the old regime in the Ukraine and is successful. He is also tasked with the elimination of a vital asset to SHIELD and attempts to hide the unease that comes with the mention of the agency. _Hide, hide, hide,_ run, run, run, his mind is screaming and the scientists take one look at him when he returns and he is wiped, pliant and childlike when he returns and the scientists pat themselves on the back for dodging a bullet and he watches and does not understand.

* * *

 

His right arm is crushed under a truck after attempting to pursue a target and he is screaming, the only time he screams as they amputate his mangled and replace it with a shiny, metal one.

There is a hydra on the arm and it drips red.

* * *

 

It takes a long time for him to get used to the arm, to not jump when the gears whirl or the metal slides when he maneuvers it in an awkward position. It is a good weapon, gives him accuracy that he did not have before it and allows him to crush a man, woman, or child’s windpipe with a twitch. It also gives him an advantage when sent on a mission that involves seduction, allows him to smother the man or woman with the palm of his hand without the target’s mouth causing damage to his flesh hand.

_You are a gift, to us, to the world, asset,_ they tell him as they run diagnostics on his arm after a mission, _be grateful and be the asset we need_.

And it sends something warm deeply into him, to be told that he is _needed_.

* * *

 

He is sent on more and more missions, but he does not remember how many. But something must have gone wrong as the scientists argue with his handlers just within earshot and simply stays seated in the machine while waiting for them to return to unlock him.

“ _The asset isn’t ready and if you want a breakdown like the one that it just had, then I suggest you start listening to us more thoroughly._ ”

* * *

 

The handlers cut his hair short and he watches as it falls around his feet, an inky black pool just like his memory. They slather and smudge black paint around his eyes and give him a mission directive and a mask to hide his face. This mission control is Russian, the heavy accent clinging to his words. He is to eliminate a level 8 SHIELD team, which is visiting Geneva on business of the United States government and will be _extremely_ vulnerable in the next few days. He stakes out the area and climbs to the top of a surrounding building.

He waits.

After the third hour, they arrive in a blacked out SUV and gets ready to take the shots on the heads of the team _(Coulson, Phillip J., American; current Director of SHIELD and May, Melinda; American, Deputy Director of SHIELD)_ , he holds his breath and is about to release when a face, an oh so familiar face, swims into view in his sights. A jolt runs through him and his shot goes wide. The team leaders have everyone on the ground and are on the radio by the time he packs up his rifle and sets to exiting the roof of the building. He’s nearly half way to the rendezvous point when a team surrounds him and covers all his exits. He snarls and attempts to break out of the tight grouping before something attaches itself to his metal arm and _kills it_. He screams and yowls, like a wild animal no, no, _no—_

And they shoot him, tranquilize him, _do_ _something_ that sends him down to the ground howling and kicking at the guards and officers that pin him to the ground, layers and layers of bodies on top of his and he is _screaming—_

Then nothing.

_(There is a little boy, desperately treading water, trying not to drown and there is a boy being beaten, beaten, and beaten. There’s no long a distinction between the two.)_


	2. Chapter 2

He is dreaming. Of a girl with chocolate crown eyes and a smile that lights up the room and the coldness in his body. He smiles, twitches of his lips, really, and then she shoots. Blood drips down his stomach from his heart. She’s still smiling.

The sun is blinding and it burns, burns, _burns._

* * *

 

He wakes.

He is in a grey room, like the one he was placed in after his last wipe, and his limbs are shackled to the table and the floor. His mind has begun to scream at him and he tongues for the hollow tooth that they put in his head for this mission in precaution of this happening. It isn't there.

The room is half swallowed in darkness and he can hear breathing.

He leans his head down towards the table, staring at his face, half swathed in black and dead eyes visible.

_(He’s not there when he starts banging it against the table, violently, cartilage in his nose breaking, blood dripping everywhere, inhaling and exhaling evenly. He isn't there when the person in the darkness yells for help. He isn't there. There’s nothing left.)_

* * *

 

He’s screaming and screaming and white coated scientists are cutting and tearing, adjusting the metal sockets with the ligaments and tendons in the remains of his shoulder.

He feels everything. He feels _pain_.

* * *

 

He wakes and sleeps.

He wakes and sleeps.

He wakes and sleeps.

He wakes and _screams_.

* * *

 

“Agent Ward, I suggest you pay attention to us.”

Blank stare, system failure in his arm, unresponsive, _do not engage the targets, Asset, do not engage_. His arm twitches spasmodically. It requires attention that he will not receive.

“Phillip J. Coulson, director of SHIELD, Melinda May, deputy director of SHIELD. _Do not engage targets, Asset._ ” His dull voice responds.

Asset. Asset. _Asset._

* * *

 

They send someone to clean him up, remove the paint from around his eyes and the blood that has dried on his face. The person is familiar but not. He has a metal arm as well. He does not understand. The metal hand grips his chin tightly, as he uses a cloth to wipe at the cuts and bruises on his face.

His eyes are blue, his hair long and brown and he thinks he’s met him before.

“What is your name, soldier?”

Blink. Compartmentalize. _Listen to your superior officer, Asset, and do not ask questions._

“ _Assets do not have names_.”

* * *

 

They lead him to a new cell. His Superior Officer tells him it will be okay and to sit down and rest.

He sits on the bare bunk and does not move for hours.

He must do as his Superior Officer says.

* * *

 

The cell is small and grey and is similar to his at the compound that it feels like he may have completed the mission and returned. His Superior Officer is like him. He has a metal arm. He is confused. Was he an Asset as well? Was this a training scenario? He doesn't understand. His orders are conflicting in his head. He must eliminate the targets but he must listen to his Superior Officer. A sharp pain ripples through his head and he clenches his flesh hand in response. He has not eaten. He needs repairs done on his arm. He is useless without them.

He has not seen his Superior Officer in what seems like hours. He does not know how long it has been. He is still sitting there where he was instructed.

He must—

* * *

 

(“He has been completely dehumanized and his sense of self has been shattered, Coulson. I’m not sure there’s much I _can_ do for him at the moment,” James tells the man. Coulson frowns and inhales. Ward had been with them for a week, in and out of consciousness enough to cause havoc in the fledgling new SHIELD he was building. Fitzsimmons, with the help of Tony Stark, managed to deactivate the new metal arm that Ward had but didn't want anything else to do with him. Fitz was still feeling the side effects of drowning and Simmons practically bit his head off at the idea of going anywhere near the man.

Skye was something else though. She had taken to the gym more practically permanently, only coming out if there was something her skills were needed for. This would seem like something her skills were needed for but apparently not.

He exhales and sends James on his way back to the Avengers Tower, thanking him for his time and effort and they will take it from here.

“You make sure to ring me and keep me updated, man, Steve’s real anxious.” With that he’s off down the hall, hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking for all the world like he wasn't born 90 years ago.

The live feed he has of Ward’s cell in the corner of his computer hasn't changed. He berates himself for thinking it would, that Ward would snap out of it as quickly as he had been sent into it. But he wasn't delusional and he knew it was going to take a lot more than just a week away from the surviving Hydra cell he was entangled in to remove the damage done by them.)

* * *

 

His head hurts a lot more now; flashes of things crossing in front of his mind’s eye, making him jerk and twitch. A child is screaming somewhere distantly and his ears are ringing. There’s something wrong, wrong, _wrong_ and he claps his flesh hand over one of his ears to try and stop the noise. It doesn't work and the child keeps screaming and he thinks he might start screaming soon if it doesn't shut up in his head, he wants to beg for a wipe, for anything to take away the screaming and the images, the things he doesn't _understand_ —

(There’s a child playing in a sandpit. He has a shovel and a bucket. He fills the bucket up and tips it over. He’s making a castle, a place he’d read about in the books at school that are supposed to be big and tall and protected people. He wishes he had someone like that. Mummy and daddy don’t look at him like they do with Maynard. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand a lot of things but he understands being hurt. Being punched and kicked and thrown. He wonders if other kids go this with their brothers and sisters. He wishes he had someone to protect him. He wishes long and hard and imagines him. He is big and tall, has a booming voice and protects him from Maynard. He wishes long and hard, for many years, and it does come true. But it comes with a price. _Give Hydra everything you are or die_ the protector whispers. He does.)

( _He is still a child who craves being called son and good boy when he joins Coulson’s team. He craves and craves and craves and will never stop craving, the craving his parents had borne in him gaping and wide, with a maw that has sharp teeth and a face that looks like Maynard’s._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thanks so much for the feedback and the kudos! I was originally pretty hesitant to post this but now I know that I have an audience I'll be sure to keep writing!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're really lucky today, my readers. I had 2 one hour periods of school where I got to use my laptop the entire time. So here's a chapter to satisfy your thirst. I might have another one up tonight, I dont know. But it's coming, don't worry about that.

He is given food, regular meals through the slots in the door of his cell. He does not consume it. Superior Officer has not returned and given him an order to eat so he doesn’t. He must listen to his superior officer. But his headaches are getting worse and he’s seeing things, in the corners of his eyes, figures and shadows dancing. He thinks he may be hearing things as well, the laughter of a woman and the giggling of a man. This shouldn’t be happening; it is past time for a wipe. He doesn’t understand why they don’t wipe him. He wants it and he wants it, more than an Asset should. He has not moved from his spot on the bed for what must be days.

He waits and waits and waits.

* * *

 

“Coulson, you can’t be serious about this,” Skye’s voice rings through the small meeting room crammed with the six agents. “You can’t be serious about bringing him _out of the cell_. Do you remember how many agents it took to take him down the first time, Phil? How many he injured?”

Skye’s seen the feeds, hacked into them from her computer in her office. Seen the way Ward hasn’t moved since he was placed in there by Barnes, instructed to rest. It disgusts her what he did to the team but what Hydra did to him disgusts her more. He’s _nothing_ and there’s nothing left of the man that they put in prison all those months ago and it shouldn’t surprise her. She watched the videos of Barnes being interrogated after defecting from Hydra and back to Rogers. She wants to rage and scream at him, shake him and ask him _why he did it_ but she can’t. There’s nothing left of _that_ Ward in the husk that is sitting on the bed in cell B24, just a being that follows every order given to it without bias and prejudice. And isn’t that funny? He could become their own pet assassin if they reverse the brainwashing and place SHIELD ideals in his head.

It makes her sick that she even thinks of continuing this cycle of violation but she wants to. She wants to hurt him for hurting Fitzsimmons and hurting Melinda and Phil, but most of all, she wants to hurt him for hurting _her_ but she can’t do that to a man who is basically a pliant child. A child that can kill people in at least 100 different ways from Sunday and doesn’t know who or what he is other than he is an asset.

If she thinks over it anymore she knows she will be sick and deep down, she knows that Ward doesn’t deserve _this_.

* * *

 

“Soldier, stand up.”

The knee jerk reaction to the command has him jarring his legs and body but he doesn’t show it. The Superior Officer is back and he must quell the bubble of something in his stomach, something he doesn’t understand. The Superior Officer runs an eye over his form and he stands straighter. He must not show weakness.

“Soldier, you are to take orders from Director Coulson and his team. The kill order on Director Coulson and Melinda May has been rescinded and you are not to proceed without their permission, soldier. These are your new orders.” His Superior Officer turns around and exits the room and he is still standing there, waiting for orders. His chest is quivering in anticipation of another mission, of leaving his cell, of being useful and needed.

* * *

 

There is a child spinning in a field. He is smiling and giggling, with black hair and rosy cheeks and a chocolate Labrador bounds after him, barking excitedly. There is a child that was never really a child and perhaps this is what could have been, if it had been given a chance.

* * *

 

They debate over who is to go in and retrieve Ward. They almost resort to straws before Phil puts a stop to the immaturity. Validating the order given by James that he must go in to reinforce the stand down order otherwise this idleness will continue until Ward is dead or Hydra decides they want their little toy back that much that they’ll risk coming out of the rat holes to get him.

He’s still hesitant, standing at the door of the cell, to open and let the monster out but he can’t leave the man (because, despite everything, _he’s still human_ ) to stew in own juices until he dies of starvation. The door opens and he fights, actually fights, to keep his face neutral as the dank, putrid air hits his nose. Dull, blank eyes stare at him and he mentally braces himself.

“Soldier,” he speaks lowly. “Please come with me. We’ll get you cleaned up and looked after.”

He turns around, keeping his senses peeled for a sudden attack but all he hears are soft boot steps and the low huffing of Ward’s breath. He fights himself internally, to keep from twitching every time the huffs are too close to him. Get him to medical and have him cleaned up and checked over and then have the team updated on his status and introduce him to them.

It shouldn’t be eventful but he can’t be too sure when it comes to Hydra.

* * *

 

There are scientists poking and prodding him. He doesn’t like it. He should be on a mission, despite his ruined metal arm, he should be anywhere but here, in this white, white room. With blood being drawn and reaction tests that he goes through every time he goes through a wipe. It makes him jittery and he twitches occasionally and it’s enough to set the entire room on edge. Are they going to wipe him? He wants the wipe, wants to not remember the horrible images that flow through his mind when he attempts to sleep. ( _blood everywhere, all over him, on his hand and face and there’s children’s bodies, scattered around him and it hurts hurts **hurts**_ )

He doesn’t want to remember, craves the emptiness of his mind without all of the images. He closes his eyes as another scientist takes blood and a memory flashes across his eyes ( _a kiss and a girl with brown, brown eyes and a smile that lights up the room and it’s for him and he covets it like gold_ ) and he jerks, a whole body thing that causes a scientists to slip with a needle in his arm and blood is drip dripping out of his arm and he stares.

(There is blood on snow, melting and hot, and he stares at it unable to stop himself. He must get to the rendezvous point in the next 15 minutes but there is something about the cooling body of a diplomat and his mistress, blood mingling in the snow that keeps him there and holds him. There open cut throats steadily leak blood that pools underneath them and he thinks it might be a message. He can’t be too sure. He draws letters in the snow, in the bloody snow, and spells a word he doesn’t understand. _Grant_.)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I got the writing bug after reading a fic with the same premise and wow, I just had to write it.


End file.
